


The Debt of Dreams

by annabeth_in_olympus



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Percabeth kids - Freeform, percabeth, percabeth future fic, percabeth married
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth_in_olympus/pseuds/annabeth_in_olympus
Summary: When Percy and Annabeth struggle to have kids, they make a deal with Hera. Fifteen years later, their family is paying the price.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 42
Kudos: 132





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**  
.  
.  
.  
The coffee was cold in Annabeth’s hand, but she didn’t notice. She sat on the back porch step, a blanket draped over her shoulders. She watched the honeybees buzz from clover to clover. What a stupid job. They’d slave all day to please the queen, and then be right back at it tomorrow. 

What pointless lives. 

The porch creaked behind her, and Percy gently took the mug from her hand, replacing it with a hot one. He stayed beside her, his hand strong on her shoulder.  
“I was thinking of painting the kitchen today.” His voice was gentle. “Do you still want the blue?” 

Annabeth’s hand flexed around the mug; she didn’t care. Still, she nodded. Then, after a minute, something connected. “We still have to do the primer.”  
There was a beat. Percy’s hand tightened, holding her firmer. An anchor. “Babe. We already did that.” 

A cloud shifted over the clover, making the honeybees harder to see. Annabeth narrowed her eyes, staring ahead. They had? She tried to remember the day before, but it took effort. Time felt like a sieve. It was all too much work.

“Oh.” 

She could feel him looking at her. Somehow she knew her voice didn’t sound like it should; it was flat, empty. It reflected the fact she didn’t care about paint or coffee or honeybees. 

Time passed. The clouds shifted. When some kind of noise went off in the house, Percy stood, pausing to kiss her temple. 

She watched the bees. Her coffee turned cold.  
.  
.  
.  
“We don’t need to go.” 

Percy stood behind her, his hands sliding around her waist. She closed her eyes, folding her fingers around his, sliding both their hands to rest over her now-empty abdomen. She hadn’t known, once, that you could feel an absence inside you. She would give anything to not know again. 

“I want to go,” she whispered. “We don’t have to agree to anything. We can just hear her out.” 

Percy’s stubble scratched her ear. “It’s Hera, Annabeth.” His voice was very low. “Doesn’t that raise a giant red flag for you?” 

Of course it did. They both knew it did. But flags could come in any color, these days, and she’d still follow if they hinted at ending the absence. 

She drew a long breath, tightening her hands over his. She opened her eyes. “Nothing scares me anymore.”  
.  
.  
.  
The house was too big; that was a fact. A Victorian farmhouse, white and peeling, it had fallen into crumbling disrepair. As soon as Annabeth had seen it, she’d had a vision. She’d strip entire rooms, knock walls, redesign the interior into something magical. They’d rebuild the wraparound porch, repaint, make it all their own. And the rooms would be used; every last one. It wouldn’t be just her and Percy. There would be little feet running from the bathtub, blanket forts in the living room, finger-paint handprints stamped along the stairwell. 

A treehouse in the backyard. Baseball mitts and ballet slippers in the hall. Angsty teen music blaring from the bathroom. 

She could taste it. It wasn’t a plan like all her others; carefully strategized, sketched, and logical, stemming from the mind. It was deeper, primal, and not of the mind at all. It was rooted in the depths of her being. A heart plan. 

And yet, as time passed and mounting frustration turned to joy which turned to sharp disappointment; as each disappointment passed through their lives, turning to heartbreak; as Annabeth walked through the cracked-plastered halls, which echoed with unfinished flooring and dusty insulation, the silent truth pervaded every corner; the house, despite everything, might remain too big.  
.  
.  
.  
Arrogant. Presuming. Privileged. 

Annabeth raised her chin and let the criticisms—no, the facts—hit her in the face. Yes, she and Percy were all of those things. Yes, the goddess of marriage and motherhood could list them off like items on a grocery list. 

And no, they’d never questioned what it meant, to try and pass on Athena’s legacy. No, they hadn’t listened if anyone had warned them it couldn’t happen. No, they hadn’t considered that they could _not_ get off scot-free, with only a heady dose of trauma for the road, to raise a beautiful little family and live their peaceful, picture-perfect lives. 

Yes, they’d assumed. No, they hadn’t thought it was too much to ask. 

Yes, no, yes, no. Arrogant, presuming, privileged, indeed.  
.  
.  
.  
When the goddess of marriage and motherhood holds out her hand with an offering, a deal, you run. Any seasoned demigod knows that. 

But that doesn’t account for extra-seasoned demigods—tired warriors who, despite all odds, grew up. Half-bloods with old scars, college degrees, and wedding bands. 

Patched-up, resilient heroes who hung up their camp necklaces, looked to the future, and began to live. Brave, hurting, wistful adults with heart plans. 

And so the offering was accepted, the deal was made, the dice were rolled. 

And there was no going back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Percy and Annabeth might be in parts of this story, but there will be new protagonists too. If you're here only for them, might not be the story you're after! :-)  
> Thanks for reading! All comments make me very happy and encouraged to write! <3


	2. Chapter 2

The beautiful white house by the water was empty. That’s what Miranda told herself as she approached the front door, winding through the vast, weedy yard. It didn’t look as though anyone had been home for some time. Surely somebody would have mowed the lawn, or weeded the flower beds, otherwise. 

She stepped onto the covered, wraparound porch—wide and airy, painted white, it was almost reminiscent of The Big House. She could see why Annabeth and Percy would be drawn to it. _There’s nobody home,_ she reminded herself, eyeing the windows—how hard was it going to be to break in? There should, at the very least, be a car in the driveway. The place was deserted. 

Still, one had to be smart. Squaring her shoulders, she faced the front door and gave a perfunctory knock. _I could probably jimmy open this knob, no problem, actually…_ she realized with relief. _Another minute and I’ll take my hair pin—_

The door swung open. 

Miranda took an automatic step back, surprise getting the better of her. Not a good look, but she was off her game today. Especially when she saw who was standing on the other side. 

It was a teenaged Annabeth Chase. 

Miranda’s mouth made a little O of surprise as she tried to register what was going on. Annabeth and Percy were out of the country. Annabeth and Percy were _her_ age, or nearly. What—? 

“We’re not interested in Girl Scout cookies.” Teenage Annabeth’s voice was resolute; she still held the doorknob, as though ready to slam it shut. 

Miranda regained her voice. She meant to deliver her usual speech for these situations. She meant to be suave and prepared. And yet all that came out was, “I’m thirty-eight, do I look like a Girl Scout?” 

Teenage Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Ma’am, whatever you’re selling, I’m afraid we’re not buying. Have a beautiful day.” She started to close the door. 

“Hang on!” Miranda shot out an arm. “Please. I’m…” She hesitated, studying the teenager. She was wrong, she realized. The girl was like Annabeth, but with marked differences. And yet, the fair, curling ponytail, the deep tan and confident stance…it was like being transported to the past. 

“I’m Miranda,” she finished, landing on the truth. The plan was shot to hell, anyway. Percy and Annabeth might even be home; the game was not up, but it had to be changed. “Miranda Gardiner.” 

Her name clearly meant nothing to Teenage Annabeth. The girl started to edge the door closed again. Hastily, Miranda added, “Are your parents home?” 

There was no other explanation; she hadn’t realized they had a daughter this old, but the evidence was before her. 

“Nope, they’re at work,” the girl replied smoothly. She craned her head around the doorway. “Now, can I walk you to your car, or—” 

The girl froze, surprise breaking through her cool exterior. _“Mother of hades,”_ she cursed under her breath, staring at the empty driveway. 

“Oh, I have other means of transportation.” Miranda waved a vague hand. Teenage Annabeth didn’t seem to hear. 

“Where the hell—” The girl stopped, swallowing once. She looked at Miranda, and there was something so familiar there—an old, sleek toughness, even as her vulnerable eyes told another story. Her eyes, which were an eerily familiar vivid green. 

“What do you want?” She asked flatly, cutting to the point. 

Miranda hesitated just a second, then said, “I was looking for something. I thought I might find some answers here.” She paused. “Shouldn’t you be in school?” 

“It’s summer.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

All at once there was a terrific screech of tires, a blast of indecipherable music, and the crunch of gravel. They both turned to see an old Jeep Wrangler in the driveway; a girl of around eleven or twelve emerged from the driver’s seat. 

Teenage Annabeth wasted no time; she let the front door bang shut behind her as she started off the porch and over to the driveway. 

“Where in Hera’s name have you _been?”_ She demanded, grabbing the younger girl by the arm. “I can’t believe you took the car—” 

“Calm down, Gracie.” The younger girl wrenched her arm back. “Nobody saw me. There’s nothing else to—” She broke off, eyes landing on Miranda. Her eyebrows flew up, and she looked quickly to Gracie. In the span of a second, the same cool, business-like mask fell over both their faces. 

“Who’s this?” The younger girl asked, standing taller. She didn’t look anything like her sister; her long, loose hair was dark, her skin paler, a few freckles across her nose. But they had similar auras of scrappy resilience, despite their sizes. Auras of power. 

“She was just leaving,” Gracie replied. 

Miranda jumped off the porch, moving closer. 

“Okay, listen. My name is Miranda Gardiner. I’m an old friend of your parents—Annabeth and Percy? From Camp Half-Blood.” 

The girls looked at each other a long minute. 

“So what are you doing here?” The younger one finally asked. 

Miranda hesitated. She suspected that their bullshit radars were high. “I had a dream about this place,” she answered. “My mother sent me here.” 

“Your mother?” 

“Demeter.” 

The girls exchanged another glance. 

Gracie gave her a long, hard look. “You’re a demigod.” 

“That’s right.” 

“So, why did Demeter want you _here?”_

Miranda rubbed an eyebrow, letting her confusion show. “That’s what I’m hoping to find out.” 

The truth was, she dealt in artifacts; physical objects, usually, that needed retrieval. She often didn’t know the significance until later, and sometimes never at all. Usually the directions were clear: a horn with a red flower, a jagged knife the length of your arm. Other times, more vague. But never, not once, so vague as this time. 

She looked between the girls, trying to gauge their ages. The older—early high school, probably. The younger—eleven? Twelve? Thirteen? It was hard to tell. 

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t known about them. True, she had fallen out of touch with Percy and Annabeth long ago. She’d been at their wedding, but even before that, they’d never been really close. They’d been slightly closer to Katie. But still—how had no one ever mentioned this family? It made her head hurt, trying to sort it all out. 

She rubbed her temple, trying to get back on track. She’d come here for a reason. The dream had clearly mentioned the house; to complete the job, she needed in. 

“Listen,” she said. “I really am— _was_ —a friend of your parents. I’m sorry we’re only meeting now.” She looked between them, then extended her hand to the older girl. “It’s Gracie, right?” 

The blond girl looked at her, eyebrow raised. “It’s Grace.” 

But she shook hands, letting go quickly. 

“Grace.” _Grace._ Miranda let that sit. 

The younger girl lifted her chin. “Adri,” she said. “And not to be rude, but our parents never mentioned you—” 

“Actually, they did.” Grace’s voice was flat. “Nothing huge. But I remember your name.” 

Hope flooded Miranda. “They did—they would, I think. We had several years at camp.” She looked at them closely. “And now—I wonder, Grace and Adri, if either of you know anything of dreams.” 

The girls looked at each other.  
.  
.  
.  
“Sit, if you want. I don’t care.” Grace didn’t look back as the screen door slapped behind them.

Miranda hesitated, then sat at the wooden farm table. The kitchen was big, airy, and filled with color and life; so was, she could vaguely see, the rest of the house, as one wall was only a half-wall, over which she couldn’t entirely see, as it was covered in potted plants, stacks of books, and even a large saddle, although she hadn’t seen a horse anywhere.  
She couldn’t stop looking around. Even from her limited vantage point, the house had a dynamic, animated spirit; through the leaves of a small potted tree on the wall, a spiral staircase led to a silver-painted loft; to her right, the mouth of a round tunnel-slide opened out of the wall, straight into the kitchen. And unless she was mistaken, she could hear the faint bubbling of water from another part of the house, as though an indoor spring or fountain lived just out of sight. 

_How strange,_ she thought. _To think of a house having a spirit._

Her next thought, eyes landing on one item to the next, was that her job was going to be harder than she had anticipated. _How the hades am I supposed to know the artifact when I see it?_

It was easier to keep her mission vague. She’d maintained she didn’t know why she’d been sent—they didn’t need to know she took things. If the artifact turned out to be something they wouldn’t part with, it would be simpler to steal it, and then leave with no one the wiser.

Adri dropped into an opposite seat, elbows on the table, chin in hands, and watched her. The girl had been even more reluctant than Grace to let Miranda in; at the last moment on the porch, she had actually suggested— _forcefully_ suggested—that Miranda show them her ID. Grace had pressed her lips briefly, whether to object or to laugh, it was unclear, but then had stepped back and looked at Miranda just as expectantly. 

In any case, she was in. 

Grace was stirring around the counters, putting away a jug of milk. As Miranda watched, the teenager stuck a spoon in a bowl of cereal, brought it over to a large cupboard near the slide, bent down and rapped twice. After a second, the cupboard door opened from the inside. Miranda glimpsed a boy curled sideways, brown hair curling over his forehead, a thick book in his lap. He accepted the bowl from his sister, and then his bright eyes landed straight on Miranda. Before she could react, the door was pulled shut. 

Miranda’s mouth dropped. “How many of you are there?” 

“Three.” Grace sat down, laced her hands on the table, and regarded Miranda calmly. “That’s Peter. Now you’ve seen us all.” 

Miranda rubbed her temples; her mind was working quickly again. “It’s strange—I just can’t help but feel it’s strange, that I didn’t know of you three.” She was starting to feel a headache come on. “My work—I spend some time in the Olympus world. Not just on Olympus, but mixing with that world down here. And your parents—they didn’t exactly fly under the radar, back in the day.” 

The girls exchanged the briefest of glances. “It’s not that strange,” Adri said. “We don’t mix with Olympus.” 

Miranda blinked. After a moment, something else connected. “Hold on…” she said slowly, looking between them. “It’s summertime. Why—why aren’t you all at Camp Half-Blood?” 

This time, there was silence. Adri leaned back in her chair, face darkening a little, and began to pick at her fingernails. Grace looked steadily at Miranda; her eyes had a deeply contemplative, calculating look. Annabeth had been the head counselor of Athena cabin for most of Miranda’s years at camp; Miranda knew that look. 

“Why would we be there?” Grace asked calmly. “We’re not demigods.” 

Miranda shook her head, confused. “But you are! You’re legacy demigods—second generation. Sure, some second-gens aren’t so powerful; it depends on the parents. But the three of _you?”_ She took a deep breath, a barrage of old memories reeling through her mind. “There’s no question.” 

Grace looked at her, just as steady. “We don’t have powers.” 

Adri was still focused on her nails, hair swinging forward to shadow her face. 

Miranda stared at them, letting her disbelief show. She leaned forward, clearing her throat. “Okay, listen to me. Your parents were two of the most powerful demigods of our generation. That’s what everyone said about your mom, did you know that? The most powerful Athena kid of her generation. And I’m telling you, there hasn’t been one like her since.” 

The girls did not react. 

“And then we have your father.” The word tasted strange on Miranda’s tongue. Father. She hadn’t know that Percy Jackson was anyone’s father. She still saw him as the reckless punk teenager tearing up camp, quests, and the world in general. 

“Your father is still Poseidon’s _only_ demigod kid. It’s been said—and I’m not making any claims, but _it’s been said_ —that he was the most powerful demigod, not just of our generation, but of…many generations.” She looked between the girls. “And now you’re telling me that their children do not have any— _any_ —powers?” 

Grace looked at her coolly. “You heard me.” 

Adri was now picking at her split-ends. “Way to rub it in,” she muttered. 

Miranda narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a little strange?” 

The girls looked at her. Their guarded wariness was less strong now; there was something genuine in both their eyes. “We’ve never had them,” Adri said. “I mean, unless they’re so weak they don’t matter, they would’ve shown up by now.” 

“But—what about monsters? I know your parents were plagued by monsters from infancy. Don’t they sense your auras?” 

Grace raised an eyebrow. “No powers, no auras, no monsters. Like I said, we’re not demigods. We’re just…normal people.” 

Miranda sat back. _Normal people._ And yet, the moment she’d met them, she’d thought how powerful they seemed to her. How strange. 

“Where are your parents?” She asked abruptly. “I know they’re not at work.” 

It was not her imagination that both girls’ postures stiffened, slightly. 

Adri sat up and crossed her arms. “Prove it.” 

“I don’t need to prove it. Demeter mentioned it in the dream,” Miranda said. “I know they’re out of the country. What are they doing?” 

The girls were obviously still deciding whether to trust her. It was clear that, despite thinking themselves normal, they were very much part of a world that was not. 

“They’re on a quest,” said Grace finally. “We don’t know exactly where.” 

Miranda’s jaw dropped in surprise. “A— _quest?_ A quest-quest?” 

Adri raised her eyebrows. “No, they’re in the basement playing Dungeons and Dragons. Yes, a quest. I thought you’d be familiar with those.” 

“But—my gods, how old are they, forty? Why in Zeus’s name are they still going on _quests?”_

Grace shook her head; she looked impatient, done. “Because of the deal.” 

Adri turned quickly to Grace; she kicked her under the table, hard. Miranda knew because all of their feet were close together, so Miranda got kicked, too. 

_“What?”_ Grace hissed. “Why does it even matter? It’s not a secret.” 

But Adri’s face was dark. She folded her arms again, sat back, and said nothing. 

Miranda looked between them. “What deal?” 

“The deal!” Grace threw up her hands, impatient. “The deal with Hera! To—I don’t know, have us, get pregnant, conceive, whatever!” 

“Eww,” Adri muttered to her split-ends. “Can you please not say ‘conceive’?” 

Grace ignored her. “They made a deal with Hera a long time ago. Apparently Athena kids struggle with having kids, I don’t know. So now they still go on quests, and here we are.”

The words _without them_ seemed to hang in the air; though maybe only Miranda thought it. 

“Wow. Just—wow. And…these are big quests, huh? Intercontinental?” 

“Sometimes. Not always. Sometimes they just take days.” 

“And…how long have they been gone this time?” 

Grace shrugged. “A month.” 

“A _month?”_

Grace stood, unconcerned, and went to the fridge. “So?” 

“So! So—who takes care of you? How _old_ are you? Do you even have a driver’s license?” 

The cool exterior was back. “Fifteen. And you know, it’s a funny thing about driver’s licenses.” She grabbed a carton of orange juice. “You don’t really need one to operate a car.” 

“Well, actually—okay, you know what, never mind.” Miranda held up her hands. “Do you hear from your parents, while they’re away?” 

Grace shrugged. “Sometimes. Communication gets a little spotty. It’s been awhile.” 

Adri, slunk low in her seat, was watching her older sister with dark, guarded eyes. It was hard to tell if she was looking for slip-ups, or for cues. 

“You must worry about them, right? Being gone for so long, without a lot of contact?”

The girls looked at each other. Again, there was that slip of genuineness, of earnest truth. 

“No,” Grace returned the orange juice to the fridge. She truly sounded unconcerned. “We don’t worry. Not after last time.” 

“It’ll never be like last time,” Adri muttered. 

Grace carried a glass of orange juice over to the cupboard. She glanced over her shoulder. “Last time, they were gone a long time,” she explained. “Longer than a month. We didn’t hear from them—it got, well, not great. We started to think they weren’t coming back.” She tapped on the cupboard door again. 

Adri picked up the story. “But then they did,” she shrugged. “Come back. And it was fine. Everything was fine. So, we just don’t worry anymore. It’s a waste of time.” She raised an eyebrow, defensiveness back in place. 

Miranda processed this; she realized her mouth was open, and closed it. 

The cupboard door opened again. Grace handed in the orange juice; Peter handed back the empty cereal bowl. “How’s the book?” Grace asked, bending slightly to see him. Peter’s eyes landed, again, on Miranda. After a long moment, he looked away. “It’s okay. Not as good as the last one.” He looked up at his sister, face serious. They seemed to have some kind of nonverbal exchange; after a moment, the boy pulled the door closed again. Grace brought the bowl to the sink. 

“Uh—” Miranda cleared her throat. She looked at Adri. “Why—why is he in a cupboard?” 

Adri shrugged, unconcerned. “He likes to be alone.” 

“Oh.” She did not point out that there were many—bigger, more comfortable—places in the house one could choose. “Isn’t he—uh, curious about…” She’d meant to say _me,_ but that sounded a little egotistical. “What’s happening?” 

Adri looked at her. “Well, he can hear us. He’s heard everything we’ve said.” 

“Oh. Of course.” 

Grace finished rinsing the bowl and turned to Miranda, leaning back against the sink. “Okay, I think we’ve answered enough of your questions. Have you figured out what it is your mother sent you here for, or…?” 

The implication was clear: _it’s time for you to go._

Miranda leaned back, considering. She would have to have a look around—how else would she find the artifact? Nothing in this room had, so far, revealed itself to her. 

She stood. “Would you mind if I used your bathroom?” 

Grace raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t, though, as if she could object. “Sure. Adri will walk you there.” 

Once in the bathroom, Miranda lingered. Nothing in here called to her either. She waited long enough that she hoped Adri had gotten bored and wandered back to the kitchen. She slipped back out into the hall; Adri and Grace were across the half-wall in the kitchen, arguing in low voices. 

Knowing she didn’t have much time, Miranda moved to a shelf and began picking up items, checking them over, just to make sure. The girls’ voices floated over. 

“…can’t believe you took it again!” Grace hissed. “At least _I_ look sixteen!” 

“Jesus, Gracie, I only got caught one time! And I’m bored, okay? It’s summer and you just want to stay cooped up—” 

Funny, Miranda thought, setting down a painted candlestick. She’d thought they’d be arguing about her. But then, perhaps it wasn’t so unheard of to have strangers knocking at their door, asking questions and name-dropping Olympus. That would certainly explain their suspicion and defensiveness. But what had they said? _We don’t mix with Olympus._

There was something strange there. Miranda rubbed her temple, touched with that same cloud of confusion. And no one had ever mentioned these children—there was something strange there, too. Her dream had specified she wasn’t to worry about stealing from her old friends; they were out of the country, and it was vital to Olympus. 

She had assumed this meant the house was empty. There had been no mention of its three other, permanent occupants. 

“—there are plenty of places we can go, Adri! You just need to ask. The way you sneak off—again and again, in the middle of the night, sometimes—” 

“Just shut up, okay? Why do you have to make a big deal out of everything?” 

“You said you went to the store, and you didn’t even buy anything! I know that’s bullshit, Adri! I know where you went!” 

“Why does it matter? Okay, so I went to the beach! Big freaking deal!” 

There was silence. Miranda was listening hard, idly turning over a paper weight. Why did Adri sneak repeatedly to the beach, even in the middle of the night? 

When there was only more silence, she glanced up; between two stacks of books, she could see Grace looking hard at Adri. Then the older girl gave a big sigh, rubbed her temples, and closed her eyes. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. Just—maybe I can drive you, next time—” 

There was a soft thump. Both girls looked around, and then a shorter head appeared, and a voice, which spoke more quietly, so Miranda couldn’t hear. _Peter._ Miranda moved closer, rounding the half-wall. She could just see his thick brown hair through the leaves of the potted tree. She hadn’t really gotten a clear look at him before, hidden in that wooden cabinet. She wondered how old he was—eight? Nine? Ten? 

She stood in the doorway to the kitchen, and she looked at the three siblings grouped together, Grace running a hand through Peter’s hair, pushing it off his forehead as he spoke. Adri was looking at Miranda, arms crossed and face challenging, asking her a question. But Miranda didn’t hear it. 

Something peculiar was happening to her body. It spread out from her stomach, through her chest; a familiar sensation, but stronger, so much stronger, than she’d ever felt before. A warmth, a knowing, and then a breathless urgency, and then—and then—

“Why are you looking at us like that?” Adri demanded. “I asked, did you find what you were looking for?” 

They were glowing. It was faint—ever so subtle—but a warm, golden haze had settled around their heads. 

Miranda gaped. She struggled to find her voice. “I was looking—” She put a hand on her chest; her heart was beating too fast. “Always before, I looked for objects. Things that were mentioned by name.” She closed her eyes. “But this time, my mother said that—that I would find it in this house, and I would know it—” She inhaled, running her hands over her face. _Gods, I am such a moron._ “—when I saw it.” 

She dropped her hands, and stared at the three siblings standing together in their kitchen, staring at her. The kids of the most powerful demigods Miranda had ever met, who no one had ever heard of. She swallowed hard. _We’re just…normal people._ And suddenly, she knew. 

“I’m taking you to Camp Half-Blood.” She took a deep breath. “It’s the only place for people like you. It’s—it’s where you belong.” 

She felt the truth in it with every word. She’d never had a job like this one, but demigod instincts did not lie. And neither, she decided on the spot, looking at her three subjects, would she.  
.  
.  
There was one other thing, she thought, in the back of her mind, as she watched them react, watched them object, shake their heads, talk over one another, step in front of each other. 

Their defensiveness, their caution, their strength; it wasn’t just to guard against unwanted visitors from the Greek world. The answer to her question from before— _who takes care of you?_ —was clear. 

They took care of themselves, and they took care of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very different kind of story for me, so if you've read this far--THANK YOU! <3 I would love to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> There may be certain things in canon that I will be ignoring or changing (maybe even big things!) So, please don't be confused if, you know, this story wouldn't exactly fit into the books ;)
> 
> I want to be clear: Percy and Annabeth may or may not appear in this story. If you're in it, you're in it for the characters introduced in this chapter :-) (And yes, we'll see from their povs) 
> 
> I love and read every comment. I love you for leaving comments. I love you for reading my work. I know this story is a big departure--but I've loved writing it. And I'd love to know if you're interested.


	3. Chapter 3

The fist connected with Adri’s face before she could duck. She reeled back and turned her head, spitting blood. There was no pain yet, only a faint ringing in her ears. Swiping a hand across her mouth, she lunged, catching the other girl by surprise so they both lost balance and fell hard into the dirt. 

The small crowd around them shouted and reacted; just as Adri was knocking back for another hit, a hand grabbed from behind, yanking her back to her feet. 

It was Grace; she didn’t say a word, just released Adri’s shirt, then grabbed her arm in an iron grip and pushed through the crowd, dragging Adri with her. 

“What in the actual hell.” Grace pushed Adri up against the weapons shed. “What, you’re getting in fights now?” 

Adri narrowed her eyes. “I had it handled—” 

“Like I care! You can’t do that here—” 

“Why not?” Adri crossed her arms. “That’s the whole deal with this place—learning to fight, right?” 

Grace shook her head. “You’re being intentionally moronic. There’s a difference between training and getting in stupid scraps with Ares campers, and you know it.” 

Adri ran her hand across her chin; it was streaked crimson. Her mouth tasted metallic and raw. This was hardly her first fight; her parents were used to getting calls from the school. She’d been suspended a handful of times, and expelled twice—though the reasons ranged. 

She looked hard at Grace. “No one here even cares what we do, Gracie. Have you seen any rules enforced? It’s like a total free-for-all.” 

Her sister looked incredulous. “Okay, first of all, that’s not remotely true. There are consequences everywhere in life, Adri. And secondly, you know how it goes—quit pretending everything’s different, now. We stick together, and we stick to the code—” 

“Everything _is_ different now! Are you serious?” Adri pushed away from the shed and threw her arms wide. “We were never supposed to be here!” 

For once, Grace had nothing to say. The two girls regarded each other, suddenly on familiar ground. 

They’d fought Miranda hard on her ridiculous claims. It was ludicrous to be expected to agree with this stranger in their house, to pick up and leave their life behind, without so much as notifying their parents. Absurd that they would follow her ensuing warning that there wasn’t even time to properly pack, because if she’d been suddenly alerted to their presence, she probably wasn’t the only one. 

Illogical that they’d packed into the Jeep, irritable and defiant, leaving behind a hastily scribbled note in case their parents returned before they did: 

_Went to camp. Your camp. Apparently we can do that. Peter had another allergic reaction but he’s fine now. See you soon. Love, G, A & P._

It was nonsensical, baseless, rash—they knew this. And so one might have expected it harder to get them to go. 

Now, Grace took a deep breath. “Right. I think we should leave.” 

Adri threw up her hands. “No, no, no—that’s not what I said. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“But you’re right Adri, don’t you see? We were never meant to be here! This place—it isn’t for us.” 

Adri looked at her hard. “Now who’s being intentionally moronic?” 

They had argued the same thing to Miranda days before. Finally, standing on a green hill beside a giant pine tree, she’d turned and jabbed her finger into thin air. “You see this border, right here?”

They’d stared at the empty air, then shaken their heads. 

“The _only_ ones who can cross this border are safe mythical beings; satyrs, nymphs, centaurs—and demigods.” She’d looked at them with a dead seriousness. “So, do any of you have some furry hooves you’d like to tell me about?” 

They were silent. 

“No? Well then, looks like we’ve got a trio of demigods.” 

That had shut them up for a while. 

Miranda hadn’t hovered. She’d effectively dropped them off and left with a casual “See you later.” Then she’d glanced back, “Well—maybe not.” 

And that had been that. Whatever ceremonious reception they’d been expecting, they hadn’t received. An assorted bunch of teenagers had glanced them over and then started giving contradictory directions, then debating amongst themselves. When Grace had demanded to know who was in _charge,_ they’d seemed a little stumped. 

“Chiron, usually—but he’s posing as a teacher this year,” one girl explained. “We’ve got you, though. You’re safe here.” 

“No shit,” Grace had muttered under her breath. “We’re safe everywhere, geniuses.” 

They’d first been shuffled through the Hermes cabin. “It’s where we put newcomers,” the counselors had confidently explained. “Unless you’ve already been claimed, of course.” 

When Grace had explained about being second-generation, two counselors—Michael and Allison—had broken off from the rest to sort them out. 

They were intrigued. “We’ve never met legacy half-bloods before. We’ve only heard about them.” 

When Grace gave the names of their parents, the two had looked at each other a long, long moment. 

“Uh,” Michael scratched his neck. “I think this situation might be a little different than we thought…” 

Allison’s eyebrows were high. “I didn’t know they had kids.” 

It would become an all too familiar phrase: _I didn’t know they had kids._ Adri felt itchy every time she heard it, every time other campers stopped what they were doing to stare, whisper, nudge one another. 

“They’re expecting us to do something amazing!” She’d hissed at Grace, later that day as they got settled on temporary Hermes bunks. “What’d you have to go and say mom and dad’s names for?” 

Grace had just rolled her eyes. 

The head counselor of Hermes had come to greet them, handing out fresh blankets all around. He was tall, with broad shoulders and an easy smile. When he handed the last blanket to Grace, he’d quickly taken it back again. 

“Oh, hang on—that one’s got a hole burned through it. One of the Hephaestus campers was in here and things got a little heated—someone threw blankets over the fire to smother it. Here ya go—” 

He’d exchanged the blanket for one on a nearby camper’s bed. 

“Clean,” he’d added hastily. “The harpies just came through.” 

Unless Adri was mistaken, Grace had blushed. 

“Wow.” Adri sat cross-legged on her bunk after the boy had walked away. “He’d rather some seasoned sibling get the burnt blanket than you.” 

“Noah,” Grace had said, not looking at Adri as she made up Peter’s bunk. “His name is Noah.” 

They’d spent one night there in the Hermes cabin, until it was roundly agreed that this placement made no sense. Then they were shunted to the Athena cabin, where they were heavily side-eyed. Stacks of books and a telescope were removed from the extra bunks to make room. 

“You’re more than welcome here,” the head counselor, Rowen, had said. “Your mother changed history; she’s spoken of often here at camp, and especially in this cabin.” 

Still, the air had seemed a little…stiff. The Athena campers had verbally accepted them, and yet no one was overly welcoming in nature. 

On the third night, when Adri accidentally knocked an elbow into a camper’s miniature model of the Parthenon, tensions had risen. 

“You know, the Poseidon cabin is empty,” the camper had said pointedly. 

They had been in there on the first day. It was covered in cobwebs and dust; there were no beds, just a dried-up fountain and old battle relics in a corner. 

“I don’t think dad ever lived here,” Peter had said doubtfully, peering at the inches of dust. 

“He did,” Grace had answered. “But he was the only one. I guess caring about your war heroes doesn’t extend to keeping their old cabins clean.” She’d wrinkled her nose. “It smells like mildew in here. Let’s go.” 

Adri, however, had ignored the other two. As soon as she’d set foot in the cabin, she’d felt a shift. A breeze had rustled through the room, giving her goosebumps and making the hairs on her arm stand on end. She smelled the salty, clean air of the ocean at dawn; for a moment, she thought she heard her dad, sun-tanned and whistling as he pointed out the change in the tide. 

“Adri.” Grace had poked her. “Come on. It’s time for dinner.” 

It was clear the other two didn’t suddenly feel stronger, clearheaded, more calm. Adri had looked up at the rafters, almost expecting to see Poseidon himself shining down at her. All she saw were shadows and cobwebs, plus a leak where the sun peeked through. 

And so, on the third day, after knocking the Parthenon model, Adri didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her backpack and hit the door, not stopping till she was sitting on the floor of cabin three. She opened the window above her, letting in the night air, and released a deep breath. 

Grace had followed a minute behind, dragging Peter. 

“Really, Adri?” She’d snapped. But they were both carrying blankets and pillows. 

The three of them had camped that night there on the floor. Before going to sleep, they’d sat cross-legged, Adri reflexively flicking a flashlight on and off under her chin. 

“I just don’t think we should stay,” Grace had insisted. “It doesn’t feel right. None of the activities here are for us; if anything, we’ll just get hurt trying to fit in.” 

Adri had twirled the flashlight. “You agreed to leave home too, Gracie.” 

“Yeah, because Miranda was being all creepy and saying _‘They_ could be coming, there’s a meaning behind this, you might be in danger, rah rah rah.’” Grace waved her hands. “Look, I never expected us to be let in, okay? If anything, it was just going to be a random day trip. Do you really think mom and dad wouldn’t have brought us here, if this was where we’re meant to be?” 

Adri had shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t know.” 

Peter had spoken for the first time, his voice quiet. “Maybe they didn’t want us to belong here.” 

The other two went silent, and looked at him. Then they looked at each other. 

“Well,” Grace had taken a deep breath. “The point is, unless either of you two think you can wield a sword or climb a lava wall, we’re not cut out for this. Either you’re here to be trained or here to—I don’t know, hide.” She’d shaken her head. “We have nothing to hide from. We have a life, back home.” 

Adri had turned the flashlight over in her hands. “I feel differently.” 

Grace had looked at her, and waited. 

“You said it doesn’t feel right for you, but it does for me.” She’d put the flashlight down and lifted her chin. “I think we need to stay and get some answers.” 

Her older sister had looked at her a long minute, then turned to their brother. “What do you think, Peter?” 

She’d smoothed her hand over his hair, pushing it off his forehead. It was hard to deny how much she looked like their mother when she did that. 

Peter had hugged his knees. “I don’t know.” 

They could hear the tiredness in his voice. They’d gone to bed shortly after, Adri handing Peter the flashlight so he could read before sleeping. 

And now, Adri stood with Grace in the grass by the weapons shed, having the exact same argument. 

“You know what, fine.” Grace put up her hands. “We’ll stick it out a little longer. But I’d think you’d have learned by now that fighting gets you kicked out of places—” 

“Oh yeah right, you think they’re gonna—” 

A loud voice interrupted their argument. “You there, legacies! Hey!” 

They looked around. Allison was shouting from the porch of the Big House. “Yeah, Chase-Jacksons! You’re wanted up here.” 

They looked at each other. “It’s Jackson-Chase,” Adri muttered. 

“I bet you’ve done it now,” Grace shook her head. They silently headed toward the farmhouse. 

“In there,” Allison pointed to the sitting room. “Oh hey, looks like _you’ve_ been getting acquainted.” She eyed Adri’s face. 

“Is something the matter?” Grace interjected, holding up a hand. She took a defensive stance, unwilling to move forward without knowing what was coming. 

“Not particularly.” Allison inspected her fingernails in the sun. “Chiron’s back.” 

Instantly, Adri’s mouth felt a little dry. That was a name she knew. 

The old hero trainer was sitting comfortably at an antique table, a pitcher of lemonade and three glasses before him. A fourth glass, already filled, sat beside a plate of cookies on a nearby desk. On second glance, Peter could be seen curled securely under the desk, playing a handheld video game. 

“Ah.” Chiron surveyed the two girls for a long moment. They stood together in the doorway, a little defiant, though neither were sure why. 

His ancient eyes were not surprised nor angry. If this was the moment they expected him to point to the door and bellow _“You don’t belong!”_ they were let down.

Instead, he heaved a deep sigh. “Look at you. The three of you.” He shook his head a little. His eyes were almost misty. 

Adri glanced at her sister. Grace was looking at Chiron with a peculiar expression; it was something complicated, and almost private. 

Uncomfortable, Adri interrupted the silence, her voice belligerent. “Are you really a centaur?” 

Chiron regarded her calmly. “I am, child.” 

“Could you prove it?” Truly, it was a wonder just how far she could push, how challenging she could be, without going too far. She was surprised things didn’t blow up in her face more often. 

The older man poured more lemonade, then nodded at Peter. “Why don’t you ask your younger brother about that matter?” 

Surprised, both girls looked at Peter. He poked his head out from the desk. “It’s true!” His face was excited. “I saw the horse body. Four hooves.” He grabbed a cookie and retreated. 

A beat passed, and then Grace took a seat at the table. Adri hung back. She wondered if the old centaur actually had anything to say, or if he was just going to keep gazing at them in fond nostalgia. 

“Well.” Chiron stroked his goatee. “I hear you have not seen your parents for a full month.” He looked between them. “I also hear that this is not unusual.” 

Grace leaned forward, an uncharacteristic eagerness in her voice. “Do you know where they are?” 

He folded his hands and regarded her, taking his time again. “Grace. Grace Anthea. My dear, you look like your mother.” 

This was old news. Grace bore such great resemblance to their mother’s teenage self that once Peter had chased her with an old photograph of their parents in high school. “Here you are _kissing dad!”_

And they still looked alike; Annabeth just had more smile lines, more scars on her perpetually tanned skin. Her thick golden hair was a little straighter than Grace’s, now; when it was pulled back, an unexpected streak of gray was visible. 

But she still seemed young, for a mom. Both their parents did. Most people were surprised that they had a teenager. 

Adri realized that Chiron was looking at her. “My dear. Would you like to sit?” 

Her eyes flicked to the empty chair, and she recognized an opportunity. She crossed her arms. “No, thank you.” 

His gaze lingered just long enough for her to show off her well-practiced stare-down. He seemed entirely untroubled, however, and merely set the third lemonade glass closer to where she stood. 

Of course, she thought, he’d be well-versed in disobedient youth. It was going to be tough to establish an upper hand, here. 

“I wonder,” Chiron said, turning back to Grace. “If anyone has shown you three the orientation video?” 

Grace cocked her head. “No one has shown us shi—er, anything. No one has shown us anything. No offense, but the leadership here leaves a bit to be…desired.” 

With a sigh, Chiron drummed his fingers on the table, seeming almost to speak to himself. “Always the same, after an extension of peace…things become loose again…heroes get complacent…” 

He straightened. “All the same—I suppose it’s not so necessary, in this case. I’m inclined to wonder if you three already possess more knowledge than some of the campers. The first generations, that is.” 

Adri felt a prickle of discomfort. Without realizing, she’d backed herself against the wall by the door. It was true that they probably didn’t need any watered-down orientation into the mythical world and how camp worked. That was what a lifetime of bedtime stories had been for. 

Still, she didn’t want to be called on to test her knowledge. There were plenty of areas where their parents had been…reserved. 

“We know some things,” Grace allowed. She took a deep breath. “But what we don’t know is why we’re _here.”_

Adri opened her mouth at once to protest. “Oh Grace, give it a—” 

Grace held up a “hold it” finger at her. _Gods_ she looked like their mother. “We’ve been living our lives just fine. I am fifteen years old—nothing more dangerous than a raccoon has come for me. Our parents would have brought us here if this was the best place for us.” 

Chiron considered her. “Mount Olympus is a large, rich place,” he said finally. “A convoluted one. The inner workings—the intricacies—well, and frankly the politics. It’s enough to make any centaur’s hair go gray, I’m afraid.” He gazed out the window, once again speaking more to himself. “It’s not the first time I’ve been called to a position of…neutrality. Never a simple thing…” 

“Good grief!” Adri couldn’t take it any longer. She wasn’t so hung up on explanations, like Gracie—but something about Chiron rankled her. “Are you just going to sit there and speak in puzzles? Or can you actually tell us what the bloody hell is going on?” 

She couldn’t explain it, this building frustration—this deep, niggling sense of otherness that had settled when she’d walked in and faced her parent’s old mentor. Maybe it was something in the way Grace had looked at him, like they already had a history; or the way he’d looked at _them,_ like they were their parents reincarnated; or maybe it was something even deeper—a jealous, churning instinct that she might have been trained by him, in some life—some other life where monsters tracked her from birth, weapons worked naturally in her hand, and earthly elements responded to her very will. 

Chiron was unruffled by her outburst. “You know,” he said, as if discussing the weather, “legacy campers are not standard around here. Perhaps you’ve observed that for yourselves; I daresay there’s been some disparity on where to put you. I wonder if, for the time being, you’d be most comfortable staying up here. The Big House has many available rooms—” 

Adri pushed off from the wall and grabbed the doorknob. “You know what? If you’re just going to ignore our questions and keep pretending you don’t know anything, fine. But I’m not going to hang around for it.” She kicked the doorframe, just for good measure, and then slammed the door behind her.  
.  
.  
.  
If Adri hadn’t gone to the stables, she never would have met the girl. 

The Pegasi nuzzled their faces into hers, instantly welcoming. She didn’t know any of their names; she just wanted to breathe in their soft warmth and the scent of hay, and to have no one talk to her. 

Her face was buried in the mane of a beautiful palomino when she heard the voice. 

“Ease up, mate, I’m trying to help you…whoa there, a smudge dramatic, aren’t we? I _know_ that didn’t hurt…” 

Adri lifted her face slowly, fingers still knotted in the mane, to peer around at a far stall. She couldn’t see in; only a chestnut Pegasus stomping and tossing. 

Carefully, she approached. A girl around her own age was deep in the stall, wearing a wide knapsack and wrestling with something gold and flapping. 

“That’s it…just keep still and I’ll… _oh for hades sake!”_ With a start, Adri realized the girl was staring right at her, a hand pressed to her chest. 

“You scared the daylights out of me! Give a little warning about sneaking up, yeah?” 

“Sorry.” Adri was still looking at the strange apparatus. “What is that thing?” 

“Oh, well.” The girl turned back to the Pegasus. “Amos here lost a wing a while back, poor chap. _Not_ that it hurts anymore,” she gave Amos a meaningful look. “So I’ve rigged up a prosthetic as replacement.” 

“Huh.” Adri went forward and held out a hand to Amos. He nuzzled into it, a shudder running through his whole body. Slowly, he calmed. 

The girl raised an eyebrow at Adri, but said nothing. She went about her work as Adri stayed there, scratching behind the Pegasus’s ears. 

She studied the girl as she worked. She had sandy-colored hair chopped above the shoulder, way more freckles than Adri, and big-lensed glasses pushed up on her head. A yellow bandana was tied around her neck, as if to cover her face at a moment’s notice. 

When she was done, she ducked out of the stall, stuffing her tools back in the knapsack. Even so, things spilled out. “I’m Kara,” she offered. 

“Adri.” All the steam from the Big House had fizzled out by now; the quiet of the stables felt like a whole different world. 

“Yeah, I know who you are.” Kara cocked her head. “Percy Jackson’s daughter.” 

Adri paused, then opened her mouth as if to deny it—she wasn’t sure why. “Yeah.” 

The other girl glanced between her and Amos. “You know, Poseidon created horses.” 

Adri paused. Of course she knew that, she’d just—forgotten. Or something. Even though it was her own bloodline, sometimes the myths sounded too much like school stuff; she could hear them a thousand times, but they just didn’t stick. 

She kicked at some straw. “Lots of people are good with horses.” 

Kara opened her palm under Amos’s nose; a sugar cube was briefly there, then gone. 

She opened her other palm to Adri; two sugar cubes. Adri accepted one and fed it to the Pegasus. 

“Spoiled boy,” Kara scratched his ear. “You know, I think they’re playing a camp-wide game right now, if you wanna join.” 

Indeed, distant shouts and laughs could be heard from the main camp. 

“Nah.” Adri took the second sugar cube and fed it to the neighboring Pegasus, just to be fair. “I’m sitting this one out.” 

“Suit yourself.” The girl began stuffing the last of her things into her bag and pockets. 

“Are you joining, then?” 

“Me?” Kara dusted off her hands, looking absent. “Oh, hades no. That’s not—well. I’ve got my own thing going, here. Quite enough to be getting on with.” 

Adri stared. Unless she was mistaken, she’d just seen Kara’s hands smart with orange, then puff smoke. The other girl rubbed them distractedly; had it been a trick of the light? 

But then Amos snorted, nudging Adri’s hand for more sugar. When she looked back up, Kara had already gone.  
.  
.  
.  
They slept in the Big House that night. The uniform room and narrow bed reminded Adri of an institution, an orphanage; not that she’d ever been in either. The sheets smelled stiff and starchy; a lightbulb buzzed all night. 

It wasn’t unlike the Athena cabin, which had also had an airless feeling. And everyone in there had always had their nose in a book or ancient scroll or something. Adri was too impatient for books; words struggled to hold her attention. 

Grace and Peter said they didn’t know what she was talking about. “The Big House is _nice,”_ Grace said. “Plus we get actual privacy.” 

Peter had said simply, “It reminds me of home.” 

On the second night, as the buzzing grew louder and the sheets smelled starchier, Adri slipped out of bed, and out of the sleeping house. She looked for a long moment at the dark blue sound, lapping softly against the beach, feeling her hair lift. Then she turned to the ring of cabins, seeing only the one that glowed a little brighter in the moonlight, a buoy in a strange harbor. Inside, the soft blankets from before were still waiting, like a nest; the air was fresh and quiet and welcome. 

She slipped off her shoes and was asleep the second her head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I recognize about two people are still reading this but if you’re one of them I’d love to hear your thoughts


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